Gold Dragon 2
Gold Dragon 2 is an encounter in Civil War. Enemies * Rebel Stormbringer (100 Gold, 100 XP, 100 Energy, 2/3/3 HP) * Rebel Alchemist (100 Gold, 100 XP, 100 Energy, 2/3/3 HP) Transcript Introduction "They say she can't die," Carmath said. She winced as her comb caught a tangle in her ginger curls. Mail coifs weren't made for luxurious tresses. "Don't be ridiculous," Ranlatta said. "It's true! I heard a commander up in Nordent ran her right through, but she just got back up and cut him to pieces." "Maybe she's a vampire," Kimon said. He sat there picking his long nose with his dagger, its blade silvered by moonlight and ablaze with the campfire's reflection. The captain winced. "Or a zombie." "I met her once," Symric said. The goblin swordsman scraped a sharpening stone against his blade. "Before the war. She was human then, at least." "Could she die?" Carmath asked. "I don't know. It was a dinner at Baron Falmouth's castle. There wasn't much killing going on." "She's a person, just like anyone else," Ranlatta said. "A good swordswoman, by all accounts-" "A great swordswoman." "Fine. A great swordswoman. And being a noblewoman she probably has fancy armor. But if you stab her in the right place she'll die. Stop listening to all the stories. I suppose you thought Roderick was eight feet tall as well? And that the Kasan breathes fire like a dragon?" "I heard-" Carmath began. "Captain Ranlatta!" Trenchon, the general's page, appeared in the firelight. He puffed for breath -- chubby as he was, he always sprinted like hellhounds were after him when he had a message to deliver. "He wants to see you." She sighed. The other soldiers grimaced. Being called before the general usually meant only one thing: someone was about to get a tongue lashing or worse. "Told you we should've used swords," Carmath said. Ranlatta rolled her eyes and followed Trenchon through the camp, towards the big command tent. When they neared it she stopped and gave a start. A band of armed men and women were sat outside the tent, most tending to their kit and weapons. They were dressed in the manner of assassins -- but their garb was more elaborate, and the dominant color wasn't the customary white. It was purple. "What're they doing here?" The page looked up at her and shrugged. "Ask the general." She frowned and approached the tent. A couple of the assassins glanced up at her, but most ignored her. Inside, General Tharcandun was at his dinner table, along with a guest. A platter of cheese and grapes lay in front of them, as well as a pitcher of wine with two goblets. But since the guest was wearing the same purple mask as those outside, wrapped around his forehead and mouth -- leaving only a slit of skin and eyes visible -- she assumed that whatever the two men had been discussing, Tharcandun had been discussing the repast alone. "Captain Ranlatta, general," the page said. "I can see that, boy. Go and... polish something. Or wax something. Do whatever it is you do." The general tossed him a bunch of grapes. Trenchon caught it, bowed his head, and left. Ranlatta looked at the masked man. He met her gaze and gave a small nod. "Captain," Tharcandun said, "this is First Knife Zandon. You saw his people on the way in." "Yes, general. But... The Purple Tigers? Since when do they march with our armies?" "Since Marlus Quent ordered it." He gestured to a side table behind him. Various papers and tomes lay on it, including an unrolled piece of parchment inscribed with elaborate ink and adorned with an impressive looking seal. "Perhaps he's received reports that some of us out in the field are being lax. Allowing the laws to be flouted. Not punishing miscreants to the extent required." He held her gaze for a long moment. Neither of them blinked. At last the general continued. "The First Knife has asked to be attached to your unit." Ranlatta tried to conceal her disquiet. The Purple Tigers... Other assassins were bad enough. She didn't trust warriors who refused to show their faces, even to their allies. But the Tigers? "General, I-" "Zandon, I'm sure the captain's grateful to have your help tracking down the Celwer Bloodwyn woman." He looked at her again. "You may leave us, captain." She left the tent like a woman in a dream, walked past the Purple Tigers with her eyes fastened firmly ahead, and returned to the campfire. There she blurted out the news. "The Purple Tigers?" Carmath whistled. "Who're they here to kill?" Kimon said. "Maybe us?" Symric said. No one laughed. *** Ranlatta liked forests. Most people did. Were she out of uniform, enjoying a stroll with her husband and daughter on a summer's day, sauntering among the trees would have been a delight. But when she was in the king's colors it was a different matter. "We're going to get ambushed, aren't we?" Carmath said. "Maybe," Ranlatta said. "But if Cyrwood's been helping Dido..." "If..." Symric said. They exchanged glances. General Tharcandun's orders, based on intelligence he said he'd received, had caused a great many whispers among the captain's inner circle. Almost as one, they glanced at the Purple Tigers who stood in a group beside the halberdiers and swordsmen. Symric had suggested that their ambushers might not be waiting in the woods -- they might be walking in with them. That morning she'd poured scorn on the idea and ordered him not to repeat it where anyone else could overhear. It didn't seem so absurd now. She'd heard the rumors. They all had. Units being made examples of, because they hadn't followed the rules... But those were ridiculous lies, weren't they? Spread by their enemies to weaken morale and inspire people to turn traitor. And how could a dozen Tigers stand a chance against her entire unit? Besides, if they wanted her dead, why wait till they reached the forest? The plains were good enough for murder. It made no sense. Yet with all those eyes watching her from behind purple masks, it was hard to feel so confident. "Is there a problem, captain?" Zandon asked. "No!" she called back. "We're... We can move out." Her comrades went back to their places and they headed into the woods, towards the little village nestled amidst the trees. Ranlatta's hand never strayed far from her sword. In the shade and shadows it was all too easy to accept that she didn't know which direction an attack might come from, or whether her assailants would be wearing purple. When the dark, aged wood of the first houses came in sight, lit by shafts of sunlight that filtered through the thinning trees above, the captain breathed a sigh of relief. No ambushes, no treachery. She chided herself for ever listening to Symric's paranoid ramblings. A group of old villagers stood around in the middle of the settlement, talking about whatever it is people in woodland dwellings talked about. Leaves, presumably. They stared at the soldiers who'd intruded into their domain. "Sergeant, with me." Carmath stepped forward. The two of them entered the village, making for the elders. Ranlatta frowned when Zandon appeared alongside them. Masked men were hardly likely to put the locals at ease... "Greetings. I'm Captain Ranlatta of His Majesty's forces. This is Sergeant Carmath and... First Knife Zandon." Even the title made her wince. It seemed akin to saying, 'Here's a dangerous man who might murder you.' "Why is your village so quiet?" Ranlatta turned, startled. The First Knife hadn't spoken in her presence before. Nor had any of his comrades. She'd assumed it was part of their dubious mystique, and that if they did talk it would be in chilling, gravely tones. But Zandon's voice was rich and pleasant. That of an educated man. "There should be more people here," he continued. "All the young folk got conscripted," said a woman in a long brown smock. "Even the children?" "We... Oh, gods damn it. Now!" The man next to her flipped his cloak aside, revealing a small crossbow and the barbed point of its bolt. Something dark and green was smeared all over the cruel steel. "No," he said. His wrinkled face creased even further as he grinned. "You don't want to reach for your weapons. And you'll tell your men back there to leave the way they came, unless you want a poisoned bolt eating away at your bowels. It'll be a slow death." "Don't be stupid." Ranlatta tried to keep her voice composed. To betray her fear might mean death. "General Tharcandun would send another force here and have them burn your village down. Even if you had the three of us as hostages." "But we won't be here, will we?" the woman said. "Give the order, or you die." "I..." Her mind spun, groping for a solution. But her duty was clear. "To arms!" The crossbow fired. Conclusion Steel flashed. There was a clink. Both these things reached her brain in a confused jumble, until her mind made sense of them a split-second later. Zandon's sword... Blocking the bolt. She wasn't dead! Captain Ranlatta celebrated this revelation by punching the old man in the face. He went down hard. Sergeant Carmath was already laying into the other elders with her truncheon. "On your knees!" she said. "Get on your knees!" The forest erupted. People were dropping from the trees, rising from the ground, pouring out of the buildings. Steel rang on steel as her soldiers surged into the village. "Death to Crenus!" a man in metal-plated leathers charged from the nearest doorway. Lightning crackled across his gauntlets. Ranlatta dodged aside. His fist flew past her face, the electricity bright and searing in the corner of her vision. A spark leapt from the thwarted punch and sparked on her armor. She cried out. Zandon lunged and slashed the stormbringer's throat. The martial mage fell, blood spraying from his second smile, fists still crackling. The captain whirled, gripping her sword. But the Purple Tigers were all around them now -- protecting their First Knife. Throwing weapons spun from their hands, and quivered in eyes or hearts. Longer blades wrought quick carnage. In moments the masked men and women had fanned out amongst the dead, swords and daggers poised lest anyone else approach their leader. Ranlatta pushed past them and ran to the rest of her people. But there too the fighting was soon over. Symric skewered the last man, who clasped a bottle of red liquid, and snatched the glass vessel from his hand before it could smash on the ground. "Waste not, want not," he said. The captain walked among her troops, surveying the injuries, ordering healing for those who could still be helped. Then she strode back to the little clearing at the middle of the village -- where Carmath was busy beating a confession out of the elders. Under the circumstances, Ranlatta didn't object. Category:Civil War